


Desperation

by sharptoothed



Category: Dangerous Liaisons (1988), Les liaisons dangereuses | Dangerous Liaisons - Choderlos de Laclos
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, hypersexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharptoothed/pseuds/sharptoothed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU; Merteuil, hypersexual, rather regrets forbidding Valmont to touch her. She makes a phone call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperation

Isabelle Merteuil is lucky.

It’s apparent to anyone who lays eyes on her. She is beautiful, wealthy, well-educated. Her apartment (penthouse, thank you) is stunning. Her reputation is flawless. Her social knowledge and sense of style are impeccable. There seems to be nothing she cannot do. She is a woman beyond compare, estimable in the opinions of a vast and varied crowd. And these things are only the public’s knowledge of her.

She is far luckier in private.

There are some things in life that bring her pleasure. She was never much one for drink, though she does enjoy the occasional pinot noir. She does not smoke and, save a few memorable episodes some years ago, does not engage in recreational drug use. What Isabelle enjoys - possibly to the point of addiction, but she likes to keep quiet about that - is sex, in large quantities. Sex and manipulation. And, of course, any combination of the two.

She has many beautiful men to fulfill this purpose. Beautiful women, as well, and beautiful people of other sorts. But men are the best, she finds, the most easily molded into whatever she happens to crave. Right now she has Antoine Belleroche, who is very pretty and rather emptyheaded, which Isabelle finds makes an attractive combination. She has Raphael Danceny, another off the Belleroche model, though a touch less handsome and a touch more mentally engaging. And then there is Sébastien Valmont, her boy, her longtime lover-turned-lovely-subtle-not-friend-not-enemy. Bastien. Val.

Right now she is off-limits to Valmont. She has him half-ensnared in a gorgeous malicious web of power and control. He is a puppet. She holds the strings. He does exactly what he tells her to at all times, for fear of meeting with her disapproval, and he is good at it. He is not allowed to touch her at the moment, not with his hands or his mouth or his cock, and she knows he misses it. Every time he comes over he makes it very clear how badly he wants her, and she denies him again and again and again. Not until he has completed his task to her satisfaction. If he fails entirely, he never lays hands on her again, and they cut ties completely.

Another thing Isabelle likes to do is tease.

She is in the middle of an email, a lengthy one. Valmont is away visiting with his aunt out in the country. All their plastic upper-crust friends are wondering where in God’s name he could be; he doesn’t seem to have left notice with a good many confused, besotted little sluts trying to force their way into a society where they don’t belong. He does this for Isabelle’s sake, she knows - she gets a very good laugh out of seeing the young ladies’ distress over where on Earth their dear Sébastien could be. They do not call each other; they write long, old-fashioned, prettily worded emails simply because Isabelle does not need the stress of potential eavesdroppers observing phone conversations. She is more okay with the government reading her correspondence than her help listening to her conversations.

_It’s getting colder here, though you wouldn’t know it out where you are. Everyone’s going out to visit families, especially the younger boys. There’s no one here, Val, they’re falling like the leaves off the trees. I’ve been so good Antoine is probably arranging to have me beatified. Completely sober for weeks._

She wants Valmont back in her bed. Badly. When she finishes her final sentence she swears she can hear him in that silky voice of his, his breath hot in her ear. _Imbibe._

She wants to.

Suddenly she has a murderous headache.

It’s terrible, she informs her people. So bad, in fact, that she will have to retire to her bedroom for the rest of the night, and everyone can go home early. If anyone shows up to the door, she will be too ill to see them.

She brings her laptop back into her bedroom and locks the door, spreads herself out across elegant silk sheets. She is already damp between her legs, lingerie clinging to her tighter than she’d like, and she pulls off her underwear and slingshots them across the room like a teenager. Her fingers go straight to her clit, rubbing in quick circles, and she lets out a little huff of air, shoving her ass down hard against the mattress. God, she needs more.

Her favorite piece of jewelry is the little silver pendant she wears most every day. About five inches long, slim, tipped with gold at the top. If you twist it the right way, it vibrates. Hard.

Isabelle takes the necklace off almost fast enough to break it and pushes it deep inside herself, twisting it to turn it on.

“Oh -”

Her tongue slips on a moan and she arches, letting out a high, breathy whine. “Fuck - fuck…”

Belleroche has never seen her masturbate. He does not know how desperate she gets, how famished she is for the release she needs. He has not seen her feed this particular addiction.

Valmont has watched her many times. He strokes back sweaty hair and whispers filthy things in her ear, sometimes takes her pleasure into his own hands. Never, never, never makes a single movement without her permission. She wants him. God, how she wants him.

She clenches tight around the vibrator inside her and picks up the phone.

“Hello?”

Isabelle puts it on speaker. He does not need a response; he will understand. She rolls over onto her stomach, panting, pushing her hips up off the bed. She is starving.

“Isa, are you oka -”

 _“Val,”_ she moans, and she hears his breath catch. “God, God, fuck, Val, come fuck me…”

“Oh,” he whispers. “Fuck, Isa, let me - just a minute, just give me one minute,” and she hears him pounding upstairs, breath coming heavier through the speaker. A door slams and locks and Valmont’s voice is fevered, rushed. He is keeping quiet so as to avoid detection, and he is just as desperate as she is. “Isa. Isa oh God you tease, you have to come be here, you have to let me take care of you.”

She just moves faster, groaning. “Mmn - fuck -”

“Tell me. Tell me, Isa.”

“I have,” she gasps, “a very pretty vibrator. And you would like it. It’s very nice.”

“I would. I know I would.” His voice is shaking; she suspects he’s palming himself through his trousers. The thought forces an embarrassingly tremulous little sound from her lips and she moves more quickly still, on the edge of a whimper.

“Been thinking about you,” she breathes. “Thinking about your cock.”

“Have you?”

“Mmhm. God, I miss fucking you, miss my boy so much…”

 _“Mistress,”_ Valmont murmurs, voice almost as breathy as hers. “Let me come back. Let me take care of you again, I swear I’ll be so good. Please.”

His words give her back a little of her self-control, and she clears her throat and tries to bring her voice back into its normal range. “Have you already finished your task, then?”

He groans, frustrated, and she imagines him squeezing his cock harder. “No.”

“Then why should I give you the right to touch me again when you haven’t earned it properly?” She shifts up onto her knees to give herself a little bit of leverage, moaning. “Fuck -”

“Because he can’t take care of you like I can.” Valmont’s words spill out too quickly, almost muffling the sound of his belt buckle coming undone. “You know he can’t. You know he can’t keep it up as hard as you need him to, I’ve heard you complaining, I know he leaves you pulsing and wet and needy and desperate at the end of the night no matter how long you fuck him -” Isabelle whines at this, clenching around the vibrator inside her - “and I’ve seen you half-crying ‘cause you need it so bad and I can give it to you, mistress, I can take care of you like you need -”

Isabelle lets out a high, sharp little cry, thighs shaking. _“Fuck_ me -”

Valmont’s panting into the phone, and she can hear him stroking himself hard and fast in the background. Their dynamic now almost reminds her of the beginning of their relationship, before her dominance and his submission, and his voice is not commanding - never commanding - but urgent, pushing her hard further and further toward the pleasure she needs. “Oh,” he whispers, _“oh,”_ and she’s certain he’s pushed his fingers inside himself now, that they’re fucking themselves together over the crackling airwaves that connect them.

God, she wants him, she wants him, she’s coming -

“I love you -”

He gasps sharply and bites down on something to muffle a cry as he comes with her, shaking so hard she can hear him rattle a little against the door. She’s moaning like a regular whore, knowing there’s no one around to hear, and they ride it out together and start to come down together, soft breaths synchronizing from miles apart.

“Isa…”

Isabelle hangs up.


End file.
